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In the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, Rose Williams knew she wasn’t like the rest of them. Though she lived among them, a distant part of her gave her the feeling that she was not meant to live among their ranks. This was a fleeting thought that often occurred to her at 10:00 in the morning – way too early for any normal human being to be awake. Especially on a Saturday. Her usual deep slumber had been shattered by an eerie sensation she could not explain. As she fumbled for a view of her alarm clock, she realized what that feeling had been… tardiness.
“Oh shit!” she screamed as she leaped out of her bed frantically, scurrying around her room in attempts to locate her work clothes. “That will teach them to schedule me on a Saturday morning,” she ranted as she scurried about. “I told them I would be useless until after 2:00 pm, but they just didn’t believe me! Who drinks coffee in the morning? Honestly!”
Rose ran out the door and drove vigilante style to her quaint coffee shop located on the outskirts of her suburban town. Little did she know, she was being watched the entire time.
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Death lingered over the dismembered bodies lying in the dark ally. Through the shadowy darkness stalked the lone creature that hesitated momentarily to study the faces of her now fallen victims. They were of all ages, however they all shared a common characteristic; the frozen look of horror on their faces when death had come swiftly, suddenly, and without warning. Come the dawn, the bodies would be found and looked upon as the grotesquely bloody array which they really were. At that moment, whatever poor soul who should so happen to stumble upon such a gruesome scene would know there was only one person in all the realm capable of such total carnage – the one that called herself Maeve.
With one final glance at her own handiwork, Maeve headed for the nearest tavern, entertaining the thought of a private celebration. As she silently swung open the door, she was startled to find the innkeeper patiently waiting for her.
“What do you want?” Maeve snarled. The innkeeper gave her a lecherous grin, letting her know exactly what he wanted, while sliding a manila envelope across the bar. Snarling in disgust, Maeve snatched the envelope and retreated to the darkest corner of the tavern. Inside the envelope was a parchment containing naught but an address written in urgent script. Questions swirled through her mind, but with trained calmness she pushed them aside. She had done a hit on fewer details than this before; this would be nothing new to her.
After a hearty supper and a sufficient resting period, the warrior strode towards her mysterious destination, intent on her lethal task.
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“I hate my life,” Azalea sighed as she tossed back another shot of ale.
“My Lady?” a voice nervously interrupted her self-pitying.
“What?” she questioned irritably.
“A letter arrived for you this morning,” the messenger said, as he offered her a manila envelope.
She took one look at the sender and commanded softly, “Burn it.”
“But… but, my Lady, it’s from-”
“I know damn well who it’s from,” Azalea snapped, but she took the letter regardless, curiosity getting the best of her.
In the realm of Kingimpfua, there were three distinct classes: the peasants, the warriors, and the mages. Azalea was a sorceress -a damn good one too -and rumor had circulated that she would eventually head the Mage’s Council. However, her political enemy and fellow sorcerer, Prince Jason, had fought against her ascension to power. Which was why she was trapped on some dump of an island, drinking her life away. She had been exiled.
Now, out of nowhere, a letter from the Mage’s Council had arrived, telling her of an assignment and guaranteeing safe passage throughout the realm. Azalea steepled her fingers against the arm of the chair. She was too gifted a sorceress to be doing petty chores for the Council, but if it would get her off this island, even temporarily, she could at least hear their offer.
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“Would you like to try our new foam latté today, ma’am?” Rose drawled in a flat, emotionless voice as she unblinkingly stared at the waiting customer.
“Is it any good?” the woman inquired, oblivious to Rose’s disinterest.
“Oh yes, it’s foam-tastic. In fact, I have already had three this morning, and my day just hasn’t been the same since,” Rose replied.
“I’ll take a small,” said the woman.
“Would you like to upgrade to our super-grandé Hercules size?” Rose continued monotonously. At this point her voice now sounded completely devoid of all enthusiasm.
“I’ll take it!” the woman said brightly. “You’re such a wonderful saleswoman!”
“I didn’t make Coffee Pot of the Month for nothing,” Rose replied. As she fixed the woman her beverage she wondered if that was the reason people called her a pothead.
“Don’t forget to come back for your Frappachino,” Rose said as she handed the drink to the woman, “It’s frapp-tastic.”
“Oh thank you! I most certainly will!”
And with that the woman bustled out of Tallullabell’s Cup o’ Joe, leaving Rose to contemplate once again why she was so damn weird.
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The Chihuahua paced angrily in front of his doggie bowl, hungrily sniffing for remnants of food. He would teach the servants for keeping him waiting. He smiled grimly, if dogs could smile, knowing his cute little smashed face would be the last thing they saw. Finally, a long awaited knock came at his doggie door.
“Come in!” snapped the enraged pup, as his doggie door opened slowly.
“Today junior! Unless you wish to feel my wrath!”
The terrified servant hurriedly put the food in the doggie dish and made a hasty retreat.
“That’s what I thought.” The Chihuahua consumed and enjoyed his meal, but he did not forget the lateness of its arrival. He never forgot. When he was through, the servant would be dog’s meat.
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Maeve easily glided from shadow to shadow as she made her way down the elongated hallway. It had been easy enough to find the building that held the Mage’s Council; it was the largest building in the city. The only buildings that rivaled it were the Warrior’s Garrison and Prince Jason’s palace.
As the assassin entered the room that had been hastily scratched into the parchment, her well-trained eyes quickly adjusted to the complete darkness in the room. The only light came from two small candles glowing on a well-polished Blackwood desk. In the feeble light, Maeve could make out a figure seated in a chair in front of the desk. Assuming this was the person she was being paid to kill, Maeve silently snuck up behind the figure and unsheathed her knife, preparing to slit her victim’s throat. Just as she was going to drag her knife across the woman’s neck, the figure in the chair spun around and light flooded into the room.
The two women stared at each other, too stunned to speak. Maeve studied her apparent target, taking in her dark flame-red hair and icy blue eyes. Maeve knew, however, that her own appearance was equallyshocking.
“One of the Nimroth,” the woman muttered to herself as she continued to examine Maeve’s long blue hair and violet eyes. “A race known for their speed and ability with weaponry. I heard they died out a long time ago.”
Maeve snarled in response, causing the woman’s lips to curl into a sneer.
“Well, Nimroth or not, if the Council wanted me dead, they should’ve known better than to send one puny assassin,” the flame-haired woman commented. “Though I must admit, you are quite good.”
“The best you’ll ever meet,” she said as she lunged at the sorceress, unsheathing her sword in a flash of brilliance, the diamond blade sparkling dangerously in the candlelight. Azalea nimbly rose from her chair, her black robes swirling as she turned to face the assassin, anger flickering behind the disdain in her icy blue eyes.
Just then a midsize rectangular object came shooting out of the folds of Azalea’s cloak and made a beeline for Maeve. She had her sword ready to counter the attack when the object came to an abrupt halt, inches from her nose. The warrior took in the sight of an old leather bound book, flapping its leaves like a bat, with a pair of eyes staring angrily at her from the cover. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!” the book yelled, causing Maeve to take a step back.
“Ridding the world of vermin,” she replied. “This your pet?” she tossed at Azalea.
“WHAT? PET! I’ll get you for that comment you uppity little tart! I’ll fill your soul with carbon dioxide, see how you like that you blazingly mediocre table wench!”
“Blazingly mediocre?! I’ll have you know I’m the most expensive wench… I mean… I’ll fill your pages with book mites that will devour you from the inside out!” Maeve yelled, taking a step forward.
“Too bad I have protection spells on all my pages, DUMB ASS!”
“That’s enough!” Azalea yelled, finally sick of the name-calling contest. “Sit down, the both of you!”
“You forget I don’t have an ass,” the book replied saucily. “Hers is pretty big though,” it added, sneering at Maeve. “Maybe I’ll borrow some of hers.” It started flapping towards her again.
Maeve was about to retaliate when, with a flick of her staff, Azalea sent her flying back into a chair, bound magically to her seat. Another flick and the book’s covers snapped shut, and it fell swiftly to the marble floor.
“That’s better.” Azalea stated, walking calmly towards the furious, strugglingwarrior. Her long black staff clicked menacingly on the floor as she stalked, the blood red jewel that sat atop it glistening evilly. She began to see that her magic would not hold Maeve much longer. She had to speak quickly. “I have an offer for you. Go back to whatever bastard hired you to kill me and take their life instead. I shall pay you double his offer. Prince Jason had it coming to him anyway.”
The warrior broke free from her restraints and then remained motionless. “You know Prince Jason?” Maeve asked incredulously.
“Wait, how do you know Prince Jason?”
“He’s a big jackass, I hate his dumb ass!”
“So do I! And he’s horrible in bed!”
“That, I wouldn’t know,” Maeve said, coming to her feet and giving the sorceress a discerning look.
“Oh, neither would I,” she said a bit squeamishly. “I… hear things… you know…” she tapered off as her cheeks grew a rosy shade of pink.
“Well, whoever was behind sending me here, I highly doubt it was Prince Jason,” Maeve stated blandly.
“I did,” said a steely voice drifting from the ebony shadows.
“Who the hell are you?” the two women said simultaneously, battle stances at the ready.
“Ladies, please.” The deeply masculine voice belonged to a middle-aged man with sandy blonde hair and cloudy grey eyes. “It’s my fault that you two are so uptight. I should have known better than to leave Maeve and Azalea in the same room.”
“Maeve,” Azalea mused, “everywhere in this realm I hear that name. The assassin that is so obscure it’s impossible to tell where the legends end and the truth begins.” She paused again, considering. “It’s said that you can’t be killed. Is there any truth to that?”
“I’ll let you know when I die,” the warrior responded keenly, “but it seems our reputations precede us. I’ve heard tales of you, Lady Azalea, impossible tales. If I have my street gossip correct, and I’d like to think that I do, you’re destined to be the youngest head of the Mage’s Council in history.”
“That was a long time ago,” the flame haired sorceress said quietly.
“And what… in the hell… is that!” Maeve said crossly, pointing at the book.
“Oh that,” Azalea smiled fondly. “That’s my Greschkin. He’s a real sweetie, once you get to know him.”
“Oh, I bet,” the violet eyed assassin growled.
“Well, now that the ice has melted somewhat, allow me to introduce myself. I am Xavier Christ, and-”
“Whoa, whoa, hold up. What’s your name?” Maeve demanded.
“Xavier Christ.”
“Are you related to Buddha?” Azalea snickered, struggling to keep a straight face.
“No, he doesn’t go Buddha’s way, he’s goin’ Yahweh!” The women dissolved into a fit of giggles.
“Anyway,” Xavier interrupted, a poorly concealed twitch in his cheek hinting at his annoyance. “Now that we’re such good chums, I have a mission for you. As the leader of SPABTSP, I-”
“Wait, the leader of what?” Azalea interrupted.
“Yeah, did you say Baptist?” asked Maeve.
“Are you trying to convert us? ‘Cause I’ll have you know, I’m agnostic.”
“You’re a big fan of televangelism, aren’t you?”
“I am not!” Xavier growled, the twitch in his cheek becoming more pronounced.
“Hey, hey! Look! He’s a fish on a hook, he’s a fish on a hook!” Azalea shouted, pointing at Xavier.
The two women burst into hysterical laughter once more. After they finished wiping the tears from their eyes, they both looked at Xavier with stoic expressions on their faces. “Well?” Maeve said haughtily.
“We’re waiting.” Azalea arched an eyebrow expectantly.
Xavier took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to ease the headache he was getting. “As I was saying,” he began deliberately, “SPABTSP is an anagram for Smart People Are Better Than Stupid People.”
He paused, waiting for the inevitable laughter, but Azalea calmly turned to Maeve and said, “That’s true.” Maeve nodded her agreement.
“And as the leader of this organization,” Xavier continued.
“Do you have bake sales?” Maeve asked under her breath.
“What was that?” Xavier snapped.
“What was what?” the assassin replied innocently.
He growled again. “I’m here to present you with a business opportunity. Azalea, I offer you freedom. You shall no longer be exiled from your home. Not only that, but you shall be promoted. Your rank will increase from that of Journey Mage to Mage, and you will have your own workshop in the North Tower.”
“The North Tower, huh?” Azalea replied, contemplating. “Nice digs, but… I want the West Tower instead,” she whined.
“Whatever! Maeve, I offer you this drought.” He produced a small vial from his cloak, an eerie blue light glowing from within it. “Once taken, it will enable you to fly.”
“SCORE! I’m in!” Maeve yelled, flying out of her seat with excitement. “I mean…” she said, sitting back down. “What’s the hit?”
“Well, first of all it’s not a hit.”
“WHAT! What’s the damn point then?” Maeve cried.
“Yeah, I don’t wanna do your stupid dirty work!” Azalea yelled.
“Fine,” Xavier replied, putting the vial back in his robes.
“Okay, okay,” they mumbled in unison. “So what’s the non-hit?”
Xavier eyed them warily. This might not be as smooth as he had hoped. “I need you to go into the normal world-”
“Excuse me,” Azalea said self-righteously, “I don’t do normal.”
“Let me finish!” the now obviously aggravated man snapped. “I need you to go into the normal world to retrieve a… package.”
“Play with your own package!” snarled Maeve.
“Yeah, beat your own meat!” said Azalea. Xavier was beginning to realize he should have met with these two separately.
“Azalea, you will be needed to transport Maeve and yourself in and out of the normal realm. Maeve, you must guard the package and make sure it gets back to me safely. Understand?”
“And just what is this ‘package’ that it requires beings of our renown to retrieve it?” Azalea inquired as she and Maeve glared at the shaken man. Their gazes could turn the strongest of men into piles of melted flesh.
“That I cannot tell you. I think I have explained myself sufficiently enough for your rewards. When you arrive in the normal realm you will receive more information on the location of the package. Until then, good luck.”
And with that, Xavier vanished and was no more.
Sparkles-Chan